I have no idea how eveyone is able to write all of this stuff out AFTER a long trip!...,My poor brain would have shut down trying to do it like that! haha.

Thanks for the details about packing and all of that. We had my top case, a small Gears brand bag on my bike and hubby had a waterproof duffle and the top part of my Gears bag on his bike. We washed once during the trip and brought things back that we never used. So, making a list like that one you suggested about checking off the things that didn't get used is a good idea. It's just hard to believe we got by on so little! I just used what is known as the "miliatry roll" when we packed everything.

We are thinking of doing a trip from British Columbia to Oklahoma where we have another home sometime next year. But the weather patterns for the heat hasn't been to faborable for a lot of the US recently. I almost cooked to death in my gear just coming back from Portand and had to ride most of the while with everything unzipped as I had already taken the inner liners out.

I'll be going back over you notes after I print them out. Thanks for the tips! There are a lot of veteran riders who have been and will be a big help to me! We have been reading notes about tents and stoves and trying to decide which one would be best for us....something that can fit both of us; or each of us having our own??

North again! Deja vu! I attempted to find some route to escape the death trap of tolls that plague the bay area, but the only routes I could find would have added more than 3 hours to my journey. Begrudgingly I retraced my steps across the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge. At least it was a much nicer day!

Thinking back to the rocks and cattle guards, I decided to shave a bit of time off my trip and took the 101 north for a ways further, wandering westward once I hit Highway 20, over to the coast. The 20 was a great little road full of twisties! Someday I will figure out how to take photos of fun roads without driving one-handed... Someday.

But here, have a neat old machine from one of the places I stopped to have a snack break:

Along highway 1, near the junction for the dirt road.

Thanks to the wonders of GPS and advice from larryboy, I managed to find the tiny dirt road heading out to Usal Beach. I mentioned before that I was really inexperienced on dirt, right? I crept along the gentle, well-graded dirt road like it was going to sneak up and bite me. Riding the brakes, trying to talk pacifyingly to the motorcycle like it was alive, I was terrified, but excited about the challenge. I'd rode dirt on the Rebel, mind you, but not much, and I was a hell of a lot closer to the ground then. Being short on this tall bike, I can't really dab. This is a good thing for my skills long-term, I never have a chance to develop bad habits, but it's a hell of a learning curve at the beginning. When 99% of what you've traveled on is pavement, any lack of traction becomes worrying. There was more than one time (especially at that hairpin mud-filled downhill turn) that I seriously questioned my sanity, but I'm nothing if not stubborn, and I pressed on. Very, very slowly.

I finally began to see the beach, and the valley below, and it was absolutely gorgeous. Well worth the trip out here. I took a photo of the bike and admired the view for a bit.

Riding over some grass on the way back to the road, I discovered that the grass was a bit slicker than I had anticipated, and the bike went sideways. Whoops!

This was the first time I'd dropped this bike. My train of thought was something like: "Haha, the bike fell over, that'll be a great photo for the ride report! Oh. Oh shit. I forgot the cap doesn't have a gasket any more. Ah damnit there's gas getting everywhere! Fuck fuck fuck..." I struggled to quickly pull it upright, but it wasn't budging. I shucked off all my luggage (DAMN YOU TARP STRAPS!) and with a great deal of cursing and straining I managed to get it upright. I was tired and everything stunk like gasoline, but at least the only thing damaged was my pride.

My buzz thoroughly harshed, I continued creeping down to the beach, where I walked around some and enjoyed the ocean and the sunset.

There were some guys from Laytonville nearby enjoying a bonfire, I hung out with them and had a beer, and smoked a little grass. We talked about exploring ghost towns, finding arrowheads, and the history of the area. They mentioned that there used to be a pier, and a few months ago, a heavy storm unearthed the pylons that held it up back in the day. We debated which president the face in the nearby cliff, backlit by the sunset, most resembled (the conclusion was Abraham Lincoln). They started packing up to go, and I mentioned that I was a bit nervous of being the sole tender of the bonfire, as I didn't want to set the beach on fire. They assured me that driftwood burns quickly and that they have attempted to set the beach on fire more than once, without success.

After they left, I decided that I wanted to move my bike closer to where I'd begun to set up camp, near the fire. This was a Really Bad Idea. It had gotten dark, and there was a great deal of sand, being a beach and all.

I made it about 20-30 feet. I underestimated how deep the sand was - the area where I had originally parked was fairly hard-packed - and managed to get the bike stuck axle-deep in soft stuff, where it promptly fell over and began hemorrhaging gasoline. In pitch darkness. Miles from nowhere. Alone.

I removed all my gear - including my glasses - to pull the bike upright and hopefully get it to stop spewing gas. I had just gotten it upright, and was cursing, on the verge of tears, when this very drunk old man on a 4-wheeler named Steve rolled up and asked if I needed any help. Why yes Steve, that would be fantastic.

We yanked and pulled on the bike but it wouldn't budge. He tried to gun it up over the sand mound, but he had no luck either and only wedged it in worse. We thought about attaching a rope to the front end to pull it up and free, but we couldn't find a good attachment point that wouldn't screw something up, leaving us to attach the rope to the rear rack instead. He had me sit on the bike while he eased the 4-wheeler forward. The rear tire was stuck so firmly by this point that the front end popped up, bringing the bike almost vertical. I was surprised and scared, and started yelling. Eventually we managed to dislodge the rear tire out of the hole it'd dug for itself, and he held the bike upright while I drove the 4-wheeler straight, backing the bike away from the soft sand a good 10-20 feet or so.

We untied the bike and he said he'd ride it back on to solid ground. He took off the wrong direction, toward the beach, while I flailed around and attempted to point him back to shore, and eventually he circled around to the solid "parking area" I'd started from. Once he stopped it, he went on, cursing, about how the bike is heavy and hard to ride, and that he's been riding since he was young and is an expert rider. He seemed amazed that I rode it down the dirt road to get here and asked how I was planning on getting it out. "You must be one hell of a rider!" No Steve, I just go ten miles an hour...

I thanked Steve for all his help, he was a real lifesaver, and he said that we could talk more in the morning.

I began setting up my tent, as it was very late. The bonfire had nearly died. I was exhausted from all of the bike wrestling I'd done, and all I really wanted was sleep. Steve rode his 4-wheeler back to grab my gear, for which I was grateful, but he missed my glasses when picking it all up. I found the area where I'd gotten the bike stuck, where I'd left the glasses, but no dice.

There was a great deal of wind that night. To add insult to injury, one of my fiberglass poles broke, making the tent even derpier than it had been previously. It was a gorgeous night though, full moon reflecting off of the ocean and a nearby stream which fed into it. Even with all of the tribulations, I was happy I'd decided to come out here.

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There was a great deal of wind that night. To add insult to injury, one of my fiberglass poles broke, making the tent even derpier than it had been previously. It was a gorgeous night though, full moon reflecting off of the ocean and a nearby stream which fed into it. Even with all of the tribulations, I was happy I'd decided to come out here.

Whoo Whoo! Thats what I would call an adventure ride! I hope you eventually found your glasses.

Slow is where it's at. Enjoy Colorado, you don't need no steenking campgrounds! Keep the shiny side up! It'd be fun to meet up someday.

I haven't quite figured out the no campground thing! Loaded my bike "Spirit" is about 600 lbs, and I have dropped her plenty seeing as she is top heavy. I'm just now getting "comfortable" (ahem) taking her off road by myself. Most free camping places I have seen here in Colorado require riding on dirt roads. Think I need to get my brain working and design a compact jack that will aid in lifting a bike! Hmmm.........

Tried this!, no luck
I ride a KLR650 600 lbs with all the gear on it.
I'm 5'6" and 110 pounds, with a 33" inseam. My legs are like Olive Oil's so not much muscle.
I did manage to lift "Spirit" once when she fell not quite flat on the road. The last part is really hard because Sprit is so tall, putting my butt halfway doesn't quite cut it. now I have to figure out a way to keep her halfway up while I slide down some more and have the leverage to lift her up the rest of the way.